


Those Magic Changes

by china_shop



Category: White Collar
Genre: Bodyswap, Crack, Gen, Magic AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 08:46:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5999530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter is faced with a difficult situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Magic Changes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sholio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sholio/gifts).



> Slightly past deadline (whoops!) and relying heavily on you saying in your letter that "snippets or scenes from what would normally be a longer story are quite welcome." :-)
> 
> Many thanks to mergatrude for first reading and Sherylyn for beta/Ameripicking. Title courtesy of the ShaNaNa song.

Peter stays late one Tuesday night to work on the monthly stats. He likes being alone in the office, collating data, and there’s always a smug satisfaction in comparing how well they’re doing to the other units. He’s just thinking about taking a coffee break when the elevator dings in the quiet of the empty floor, and Mozzie and Neal get out, followed by El. Neal has his hand on the small of Mozzie’s back in a gesture that looks oddly chivalrous.

Peter forgets the stats and goes to the door. “To what do I owe the—”

“Don’t freak out,” El interrupts.

“Seriously?” says Neal, over his shoulder. “You’re leading with that?”

“It’s traditional,” says El. She sounds tense and defensive, and Peter pushes past the others to get to her. 

“Hon, what’s wrong?”

Mozzie grabs his sleeve as he passes, but he barely notices, because El is flinching away from him.

“Stop right there, Suit,” she says. “I’m not your wife. No touching!”

Peter’s heart seems to freeze in his chest. “ _Mozzie?_ ” He glares at Neal. “Tell me what’s going on, _now_. Where’s El?”

“I’m right here, hon,” says Mozzie, his voice firm in the way El gets when she’s refusing to panic. He grabs Peter’s hand. “Right here.”

Peter’s first reflex is to pull away—it’s Mozzie!—but then he looks into those myopic eyes, sees him biting his—no, her—her lip nervously. Peter clasps her shoulder through the garish blue Hawaiian shirt. It’s easier than holding Mozzie’s hand in his. “How?”

“Probably some kind of curse,” says Neal. “We don’t know for sure.”

“It might have been something I ate,” says Mozzie from El’s body. 

“Wouldn’t it have to be, I don’t know, something we both ate?” says El from Mozzie’s.

Peter’s head starts to throb, but this is no time to panic. El needs him. He shepherds all three of them into the conference room and shuts the door, instinct driving him to keep this fiasco as quiet as possible. “This does not go beyond this room.”

“Um,” says Mozzie from El’s body.

“What?” Peter’s patience is wearing thin with the little guy—he’s dragged Neal into one mess after another, he makes constant jibes at Peter’s and the Bureau’s expense, his grip on reality is more of a casual brush-past, and now he’s occupying Peter’s wife’s body. This is definitely Mozzie’s fault. 

If he didn’t look like El right now, Peter would be tempted to arrest him.

Neal steps into the breach. “You should call in the rest of the team. Many hands.”

“We’ve already tried a few ways to fix it, hon,” says El from Mozzie’s body, her eyes wide. “Nothing’s worked.”

Peter’s mouth goes dry. “You’ve already—when exactly did this switcheroo take place?”

“Around lunchtime,” says El, vaguely.

“Eleven twenty-four A.M.,” says Mozzie. “Give or take.”

Peter glances at the clock on the wall, automatically does the math. “You waited ten and a half hours before you came to me? El?”

“We didn’t want to worry you,” says El quickly. “I mean, it took half an hour to figure out what had even happened, and then Mo—then we were sure we could fix it ourselves. I thought it would just be an amusing anecdote over dinner, you know?”

Mozzie nods. “And then Neal came home, and—”

That must have been four hours ago. They hadn’t even called.

“So I’m your last resort,” says Peter. He runs a hand over his face to hide his hurt. And worry. Jesus! If they’ve already tried everything Moz can think of— He meets El’s gaze through Mozzie’s thick glasses, sees the effort it’s costing her to stay calm.

“Hon, you know how uncomfortable the Bureau makes Mozzie—”

“He was worried you’d kill him,” murmurs Neal.

“I wouldn’t harm a single hair on his head,” growls Peter. “Okay, we need lists: possible causes, everything you’ve tried so far, anyone with a grudge against Mozzie—”

“Actually, we need Blake,” says Neal.

Peter blinks. “Blake who?”

“Magnus Blake, your probie? Eldest great-grandchild of Magdalena Blake, the alchemist?” Mozzie turns to Neal. “How does he not know this?”

Peter pinches the bridge of his nose. The further this conversation progresses, the easier it is to see Mozzie as Mozzie, despite his current face and form. It’s disturbing beyond measure, but it also helps Peter to bite back the accusation that this is an elaborate practical joke. He sighs and drops his hand. “Okay, okay, I’ll get Jones to call Blake in.”

“And the rest of your circle of wand-wielders,” says Mozzie.

Peter meets Neal’s eye, frustrated, and Neal shrugs. “Some of the others have Talent.”

“And you never thought to mention this before,” says Peter.

“I thought you knew,” says Neal, which is obviously an outrageous lie, but El chooses that moment to slump into one of the chairs at the conference table, remove and fold Mozzie’s glasses, and drop her forehead onto her arms.

“What I wouldn’t give for a gallon of ice cream right now,” she says, muffled.

“No dairy!” squawks Mozzie.

“I know,” she groans. “Hon, please, just call Blake.”

Peter wants to go to her, rub her shoulders or even hold her, but the fact that she keeps calling him “hon” in Mozzie’s voice is disturbing enough. They have to fix this ASAP, and apparently that means admitting the predicament to the rest of the White Collar team. He sighs heavily, quashes his embarrassment and calls Jones.

 

END


End file.
